


Hurt and Healing

by purple_kangaroo



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28104114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_kangaroo/pseuds/purple_kangaroo
Summary: "Can Uncle Trent just fix it?" Jameelah asked, her voice shaky with tears. "Yeah, kiddo, I can take care of it." / It's the 4th of July. The team gathers together for a party, and Trent finds himself taking care of a hurt Jameelah Perry, reflecting on memories, and talking about scars.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	Hurt and Healing

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I’ve lurked on here for a long time, reading and enjoying all of your wonderful work. We have some amazingly talented writers here! 
> 
> It’s time for me to add my own contribution into the mix. I’ve always enjoyed writing. My previous fanfics were for 24, my favorite show. (None of those are posted here on AO3.) This is my first fic in a few years, and my first ever for SEAL Team. I finally got a story idea and decided to run with it. 
> 
> Warning for mentions of combat injuries and injury to a child.
> 
> Trent is one of my favorite characters, and I think we don't get to see quite enough of him, both in the show and in fic. Also, Full Metal is in here too - even though he actually doesn't belong to Bravo - because one, we don't see enough of him as a character either, and two, I can picture him joining in and having fun here. 
> 
> My little cousin FaceTimed me recently to show me the stitches that he had to get after a nasty run-in (literally) with a table. That incident, right after reading some SEAL Team fics, led to me thinking of Medic-Trent and the people he cares for. This is the result.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Naima paused with the spoon in her hand, the bowl of cut fruit in front of her temporarily forgotten, as she watched the scene in the backyard. The guys were home. They were home, they were safe, and everyone could breathe. Today was about fun, a 4th of July cookout, food, games, and some sparklers for the kids once it got dark.

Ray had been tight-lipped, refusing to discuss the spin-up they had just returned from, only quietly saying that it “had been a bad one”. Then he had run a hand over his face, as though wiping the demons out of his field of vision, and leaned down to attack RJ with tickles.

Her guys were hurting and haunted; she could see it in their faces. Sometimes the pain and the mental images couldn’t be washed away with alcohol, good food, movies and games, family time, or working out until you collapsed and were too tired to think. This was one of those times. Whatever had happened in those far-away mountains, it had affected them. This one would linger for a while.

Laughter drifted through the open kitchen window. Sonny appeared to be teasing Clay about something, and Clay’s sputtering and head-shaking ‘no’ were making both Sonny and Lisa laugh. Their laughter made Naima grin as she picked up the fruit bowl, jabbed a serving spoon into it, and stepped out into the backyard.

“How are those burgers coming?” Trent asked, peering over Sonny’s shoulder.

The Texan brandished his spatula in warning and pushed Trent away. “Just fine without your help, thank you very much. Don’t get between the chef and his food.”

“Men,” Lisa said to Naima, rolling her eyes. Naima chuckled as she stepped around Sonny and the grill, and set the bowl of fruit on the table with the other dishes.

Cerberus was obediently ignoring the table of food, but the Malinois’ nose was pointed upward, sniffing the aroma of grilling burgers and hot dogs. Jason plucked a small seedless chunk of watermelon from the fruit bowl and discreetly handed it to the dog while gently scratching his head. His tail thumped in appreciation as he swallowed the treat.

The back door opened, then slammed closed, accompanied by squeals and laughter. Jameelah and RJ burst out the door and raced across the patio, both clutching Nerf guns and an extra bag of the soft foam darts. Hot on their heels came Clay and Full Metal with their own Nerf guns. The four of them set off through the backyard at a sprint, dodging people and lawn chairs. Cerberus barked happily as he leaped up and chased after the children, nearly tripping Clay in the process.

Naima raised an eyebrow and turned to Sonny. “Where did those Nerf guns come from? Clay or you?”

“Who says it was either of us?” he asked innocently. “Could have been Metal. Or anybody.”

She laughed. “Clay’s a sniper and you’re a child in a grown adult body, so you two are the most likely culprits.” 

“You’ve got a point,” he admitted. “Clay picked out RJ’s, made sure it was small enough for a four-year-old’s hands so he can hold and handle it. We got a couple surprises for the kids.”

 ** _BOOOM!_** A large blast suddenly split the air. “Son of a bitch,” Jason exclaimed as everyone flinched. Postures stiffened and eyes scanned for the source of the noise.

Ray pointed over the fence towards one of the neighbors’ houses. “Looks like Walters decided to buy out the entire damn fireworks stand and make some noise.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brock muttered, exhaling hard. “Give everybody a damn heart attack, why don’t you.” At the other end of the yard, Cerberus let out a single angry bark, as though scolding someone for scaring his people.

Naima eyed the team, watched almost all of them visibly relax and come back to the ‘here-and-now’ of safety and home, not war zones and bomb blasts.

Clay, Metal, and the kids were still running around the yard, ducking around trees and tables, firing Nerf darts at each other.

A wild shot from Jameelah missed its target and struck Jason in the leg. He whirled around and fixed her with a mock glare that gave way to a mischievous grin. Moments later, RJ’s stray shot hit Blackburn in the neck. The little boy’s eyes widened as the foam dart struck the team commander in the neck and bounced to the ground. Blackburn ducked, startled, then glanced down and laughed out loud. “Looks like friendly casualties and collateral damage are a part of this war. Spenser, can we get a weapon to defend ourselves?”

Sonny overheard. His eyes gleamed as he answered. “Actually, yeah.” He set down his spatula, pulled keys from his pocket, and tossed them to Brock. “My truck, back seat. We picked up some more guns and darts in case some more people wanted to play.” Blackburn chuckled, and Brock grinned as he jogged off towards the front of the house.

Suddenly, multiple things seemed to happen all at once: glass shattered, there was a thump as someone’s body hit the ground, and Jameelah cried out. Cerberus barked.

Naima, Ray, and Trent reached the scene at the same time. Jameelah was sitting in the grass just beyond the edge of the stone patio, clutching her knee, with blood seeping between her fingers. “Jameelah _jan,_ what happened?” Naima asked.

The girl sniffled. “I fell,” she managed. Her chin trembled and she blinked hard, trying not to cry. Then she gave up the valiant effort at bravery and keeping a stiff upper lip, and burst into tears. “It hurts.”

Clay knelt next to her. “She was running, tripped and fell, hit her leg on the edge of one of the stones. Watch out for the glass,” he added, pointing to the ground around them. “She knocked into the table when she fell, and that glass fell off and broke.”

Trent shook his head and blinked back the visions of _another time, another place, children covered in blood, their small bodies under his hands as he worked…_ He blew out a breath, clenched and unclenched his hands to stop their slight trembling, and got himself back under control. _No. Not here. Not now. It’s Jameelah and Clay, at home._

He eyed the shards of what had been a drinking glass. “Either of you get cut?”

Clay held up one hand. “Nicked my finger a little. It’s nothing. A Band-Aid will fix it.”

RJ, who had been hovering anxiously next to his sister, jumped to his feet. “We’ve got lots of those. Even superhero ones. I’ll get you one,” he said over his shoulder. The door slammed closed behind him as he ran inside the house, intent on his mission.

Naima rocked her daughter as Jameelah cried.

The level of conversation and activity in the yard had dropped, and nearly everyone was casting concerned glances in their direction.

Cerberus pushed his way into the small circle, whining softly. He snuffled against Jameelah’s cheek and licked away a tear. She sniffed. “Thanks, Cerb.”

“Can I see?” Trent asked gently. Jameelah peeled her fingers away from the wound and let him look. “Ow,” he said sympathetically. “I bet that does hurt.” He grabbed a napkin and wiped blood away from the cut, then pursed his lips and turned to Naima. “She hit it at just the perfect angle for a nice gash. I don’t think Band-Aids are quite enough, even superhero ones. That needs to be closed. Maybe a couple stitches,” he said quietly. Naima grimaced, then nodded in agreement.

Jameelah leaned her head against Naima’s chest, biting her lip as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Ray planted a kiss on the top of his daughter’s head.

RJ returned, clutching two Band-Aids and antiseptic wipes. “Superman for you, Uncle Clay,” he said, handing one over, “and Meelah, I got yellow happy faces for you.”

“Thanks, little man.” Clay ruffled his hair. “Want to help me put it on?” RJ nodded, and together they carefully doctored Clay’s finger with the cleaning wipe and colorful cartoon Band-Aid. “It feels better already.”

RJ held out the second one towards his sister. “Here’s one for you.”

“Thanks, buddy. That’s nice of you,” Trent told him. “But I think this one needs a little more than one Band-Aid.”

“I can go get more. We’ve got boxes.” RJ turned to run back into the house again, but Ray stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t you go get the little first aid kit instead?” he suggested. “You know where Mommy keeps it in the bathroom cabinet. Can you get it out and put it on the counter so we can bring Meelah in there?” RJ nodded seriously and hurried back into the house again.

Naima unwrapped her arms from around Jameelah and got to her feet. “I’ll call in, see who’s on duty in the ER, and let them know we’ll be bringing her in.”

“Can Uncle Trent just fix it?” Jameelah asked, her voice still shaky with tears.

“Yeah, I could. Do you want me to take care of it? My bag’s in my truck, and I’ve got supplies for wound closure. It would be easier and faster than going to the ER on a weekend – and a holiday weekend, no less,” he added.

Naima thought about the logistics of a hospital visit. Even though she knew the hospital and her coworkers, and they could probably pull strings, it was still a holiday weekend and the ER would probably be full of people who’d had too much to drink, firework injuries, and God knew what else. Trent was right. She nodded.

“Okay, then. Why don’t you take her inside and get it cleaned up. I’ll go get my bag and meet you in there.”

The Nerf war had ceased. Sonny carried the pans of hamburgers and hot dogs from the grill to one of the tables on the patio. Everyone milled between the kitchen and patio, arranging serving dishes, getting drinks, and filling plates. They carefully skirted around the scene in the living room.

RJ found Lisa and tugged on her hand. “Can you help me?”

“Sure, buddy, what do you need?”

He pointed towards the kitchen. “A Popsicle for Meelah. She likes the purple ones. Popsicles make owies better, but I can’t reach up there.” He could have gotten a chair and pulled it over there, but that was loud and awkward and there were too many people in the way. Asking a taller grown-up who didn’t need a chair was _way_ easier.

Lisa smiled. “Popsicles definitely make owies better. But let’s wait until Uncle Trent’s done fixing her cut first so we don’t get in the way.”

Ray sat down on the living room couch and positioned Jameelah in his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. Naima had thoroughly cleaned the gash on her knee while Trent retrieved his supply bag and pulled out what he needed.

“I have butterfly strips, DermaBond glue, and a suture kit,” he said quietly to Naima. “With where that cut is located and its shape, I don’t think butterflies or glue will hold it securely enough. I’m going to have to stitch it.” Jameelah whimpered softly, but said nothing.

As Trent looked at Jameelah’s tear-streaked face, he saw the haunted eyes of another child in another far-away place. He’d heard children and grown, hardened military operators alike crying and screaming in pain. Calling for a corpsman, a medic, morphine… their mother, their wife… God, Jesus, Yahweh, Allah…

And combat medicine, in the field and under fire, was ugly. Too often, treatment to _help_ save a life also _hurt,_ causing further pain. He knew there were some of those faces, voices, cries, and screams that would never completely fade from his memory.

He shook his head, blinking hard, and focused on Jameelah’s face. “Okay, kiddo, let’s get this taken care of so you can get back to the fun. I saw Lisa brought her awesome brownies that everybody loves. I’ll make sure you get one – heck, maybe two – as soon as we’re all done here. Sound good?”

She bit her lip. “Is this going to hurt?”

“A little, yeah,” Trent admitted honestly. “It will hurt a little. But I’ll be as gentle and fast as I possibly can. You know I would never, _ever,_ hurt you on purpose, right? Do you trust me?” Jameelah nodded silently.

Trent picked up the first item that he needed – a syringe of lidocaine. Naima cupped her daughter’s chin in her hand and turned Jameelah to face her instead of the needle. “This is lidocaine,” Trent said calmly, moving so Jameelah could see his face. “The first thing I need to do is numb up that cut so you don’t feel anything. To do that, I need to give you a couple shots around where the cut is. I’m sorry, but it’s going to sting. But after I do this, it won’t hurt anymore and you won’t feel me working on it. I promise. Okay?”

She swallowed hard, but nodded.

“I’ve got you, _azizam,”_ Ray said quietly. “Look at me. Eyes up here.”

At the first prick of the needle, Jameelah flinched. As Trent injected the first of the lidocaine, she yelped at the burn, then cried out. “That hurts!” The yelp became a wail. Reacting instinctively to the pain, she jerked away so quickly that Ray lost his grip on her shoulder and her injured knee nearly caught Trent in the face.

Trent pulled the needle away and they scrambled to grab hold of her again. “You can’t move like that,” he told her. “You could really hurt yourself, or me.”

“It hurts!” She was weeping now as she shook her head.

“I know it does, and I’m so sorry,” he said earnestly. “If there was any other way to do this, I absolutely would. But we have to do this. I’m going to be as fast as I possibly can. It will hurt, but it’ll be quick, and then I promise the hard part will be all over.”

There were footsteps in the kitchen, followed by laughter. Someone – Trent didn’t look up to see who – had come inside to get something. As they realized what was happening, they quickly quieted.

Trent held out his arm, the injured one covered in scars. “You’ve seen these scars before. You know I got hurt on a mission. You’re too little to remember when it happened, but I had to have a bunch of stitches and a bunch of surgery to fix it,” he said quietly.

She sniffled. “Did it hurt? Did you cry?”

He nodded solemnly. “It hurt a lot, but they gave me a lot of good pain meds to help. I sure did cry sometimes. You’re never too big to cry. Sometimes something hurts a lot and just plain sucks – I mean _stinks_ ,” he quickly corrected himself as Naima raised an eyebrow – “and you just need to cry. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I think Trent has fixed every single one of us up and given us stitches, Meelah,” Clay’s voice said from the kitchen. “Some of us more than once. Some of us a bunch of times.”

“Because some of us are shit m – uh, _very accident-prone_ ,” Sonny said dryly.

“Do you cry?”

“Sometimes we cry, yeah. Sometimes we say a bunch of bad words instead,” Clay answered. Jameelah giggled through her tears at that.

Trent heard the back door open again. Brock’s voice gave a low whistle and a quiet command. Cerberus burst through the door and headed straight for their little huddle in the living room. Brock called out, “He’s worried about you, Jameelah. He’s coming to sit with you.”

The Malinois hopped onto the couch next to Ray, and wormed his way over so that he was draped across Ray and Jameelah’s laps. His dark eyes stared worriedly at the small crying human, and he whined softly as he nudged her with his nose.

“Good boy, Cerb,” Trent praised him. Cerberus looked back and forth between the medic and the girl, and leaned his head against Jameelah’s chest. Jameelah tenderly stroked the dog’s head and scratched behind his ear. Trent readied the syringe again and took a gentle but firm grip on Jameelah’s injured leg. “You ready?”

“No,” she squeaked. She blew out a shuddering breath. “But, do it.”

“Brave girl,” Trent said gently. “Okay, kiddo. Here we go. A pinch and a burn.”

Ray gently took his daughter’s hand. Jameelah flinched, then whimpered. She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to her father with one hand and Cerberus’ fur with the other. The whimper became a choked sob as a single tear trailed down her cheek. Cerberus licked her chin, offering a soft whimper of sympathy.

“Breathe, _azizam,”_ Naima murmured. “Slow, deep breaths. Just focus on that and on Cerb, okay?”

“Ow,” she choked out. Two tears splashed down onto Cerb’s head. Her shoulders were heaving with silent sobs, but she bit her lip and forced herself to hold still.

“I know, hon,” Trent said softly.

“Are you done?” she pleaded.

“Almost. Count to ten, and I’ll be done.”

 _“Yek, du, se…”_ Naima said in Kurdish. “Do you remember them, Meelah?”

Jameelah made a face at her mother. “I know you’re trying to distract me, and that’s not working,” she managed through hitching breaths.

“E for effort, though,” Trent laughed.

He sat back on his heels. “Okay, sweetheart, that’s it. Done.” He secured the used syringe, then leaned forward to pat Jameelah’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I know that was rough. That was the worst part, I promise.”

She swiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. “Now what?”

“It gets better from here. The next part’s easy. Take a break, catch your breath, for a couple minutes while the lido does its work and makes that cut numb. Then you just get to sit here and relax while I do all the work of stitching it up. That won’t hurt.”

Clay poked his head into the living room. “Like I said, Jameelah, pretty sure we’ve all been there and done that at least once. More than one of us have said bad words and called Uncle Trent names,” he told her. “That was rough, and you were brave.”

“I get no appreciation around here,” Trent said, poking out his lower lip in a mock pout. “Ouch, Trent. Be gentle, Trent. You’re a big meanie, Trent. Jeez, I know I’m not as cool as superhero Band-Aids” – he gestured to Clay’s finger – “but can’t a guy get a thank-you once in a while?” He smiled as Jameelah giggled. He relished the sound of her laughter.

“Can you forgive me, or are you going to stay mad at me forever?” he asked.

Jameelah shook her head. “No way, I can’t stay mad at you forever. That really hurt, and I don’t want to ever do it again. But you’re just doing your job.”

“Whew.” Trent pretended to wipe his brow in relief. “Thank goodness. I’m glad.”

“Fee fi fo fum,” Jason’s voice boomed in the kitchen. “I smell brownies.” He came through the doorway carrying a paper plate that held a brownie studded with chocolate chips. “Lisa made her great brownies. A little bird told me that Jameelah needs some chocolate as a reward after all this. Here you go, kiddo.” He handed it to her.

“Yep, pretty sure this calls for breaking the rule about eating dinner before dessert,” Naima said. 

Trent gently tapped Jameelah’s knee. “How does that feel? Can you feel me touching it?”

“Ooh, that’s weird.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s tingly. Numb. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Perfect. That’s exactly what’s supposed to happen. Let’s get this stitched up. It won’t take very long.” Trent opened the suture kit. “You can watch me do it or you can look away, your choice.” He glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. “Speaking of which…” Sonny was standing in the doorway, sticking his tongue out and making a silly face. Trent chuckled. “Don’t watch me; look at your crazy uncle Sonny over there instead. That’s one distraction technique.”

Jameelah looked up at Sonny, laughed, and made a goofy face back at him.

Her head snapped towards Trent as he started the first stitch. “Doesn’t hurt, right?” he asked.

“Uh-uh. Feels like you’re tugging on it and tickling it. It feels funny.”

 _“Hurting_ would be bad, but _funny’s_ okay. And… there’s one stitch done.” She blinked in surprise, and he nodded. “See, you’ve got this. Told you the numbing would be the worst part. You’re doing great.”

Trent kept working, and Jameelah’s gaze drifted to his scarred arm. “Will I have a scar?”

“Maybe a very tiny one. I’m a pro, remember? And this is a small wound. You probably won’t even be able to tell what happened once it’s all healed. Definitely nothing like mine.”

“Scars mean you have stories to tell,” Sonny said. “If that one does end up being visible, we’ll have to come up with a cool story for how you got it.” He pulled up his t-shirt sleeve to display a jagged scar on his shoulder. “Like this one. Shark attack, saving a lady in distress.”

Ray laughed as Jameelah snorted and shook her head. “Uh-uh. You hate sharks and the ocean! You got that on a mission in Syria. I remember.”

“What? You don’t believe me?” Sonny feigned a wounded expression.

It sounded like there was a crowd of people in the kitchen, filling drinks, helping themselves to dessert or more food, cleaning up trash, whatever else. Brock appeared in the doorway. “About what?” he asked, having overheard Sonny.

“I told her I got that scar during a shark attack, and she laughed at me like I’m lying. Would I do that?”

“You, make up a story? Nope, that’s definitely never happened. Can’t imagine why Jameelah would think that.” Brock smirked. Sonny sputtered in mock offense.

“I like you better when you’re quiet, Reynolds,” he said.

Brock shook his head, ignoring him, and faced Jameelah.

“Hey, Jameelah, did I ever tell you about the time Cerb bit me in training?” Her eyes widened, and she shook her head no. “Yeah, speaking of scars. He was younger, and we both still had a lot to learn. It was a training session. I didn’t have the padded gear on right. He was smaller then. He leaped up to bite me, missed his target, and his teeth got me _here.”_ Brock pointed to a spot on his hip, barely above his left buttock. “It was totally my fault, not his. But yep, my dog bit me on the butt.” He rolled his eyes. “Now if anybody ever sees that scar, I’m _definitely not_ going to tell them that I, a K9 handler, got bitten _on the butt_ by my dog. It was a zombie. I fought off a zombie horde and lived to tell the tale, and that’s the story I’m sticking with.”

Sonny cringed, Ray snickered, and Jameelah laughed out loud. Cerb wagged his tail, oblivious to the fact that it was _him_ that his people were laughing about.

Full Metal’s head popped around the kitchen doorway, his brow furrowed. “Say again, Reynolds? Did I just hear something about a zombie biting you on the butt? I must have missed the debrief on that mission.” Jameelah nearly spit out the bite of brownie that she had just taken as she laughed.

“No, you did not. We’re talking about scars and stories. Sonny tried to tell Meelah that his scar from the Tel Abyad mission was from a shark attack. So I told her about the time that Cerb bit me. But that’s a bad story, so I said I fought off a zombie horde instead.”

Grinning, Metal picked up his plate and headed back outside.

Clay plopped down in the cushy armchair across from the couch. “So we’re sharing scar stories, huh? I have a bunch. Here’s one.” He pulled up his pant leg to display an old, crooked scar on his ankle. “You knew I grew up in Liberia as a kid. I was climbing trees with a couple of my friends, grabbed the wrong branch, fell, and gashed my ankle on this big rock. But that makes me sound like a clumsy idiot who doesn’t know how to climb a tree – which is practically a kid rite of passage. Liberia’s in Africa, and a ton of people think that all of Africa is just jungle and desert, monkeys and lions, that kind of stuff. So instead, we’ll make up a badass story about how I fought a huge lion and won.”

As Trent carefully and methodically stitched, Clay regaled Jameelah with stories of Liberia, his childhood friends, gold and diamond mines, rainforests and mountains, and roaming wild animals including elephants and leopards. He conveniently skipped the stories of civil war, blood diamonds, and Ebola. She listened eagerly, all but ignoring Trent’s work.

“Okay, sweetheart, that’s it. I’m done.” Trent neatly clipped the final stitch. “Going to put a little ointment and a bandage on this, and you’ll be all set.”

“Thanks, Cerb,” Jameelah whispered, giving his ear a scratch. He woofed softly. Sensing that his task here was complete, he hopped down out of her lap and trotted over to Brock’s side. She inspected her knee as Trent covered and dressed it. “Thanks, Uncle Trent.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo. That’s one of the things that I’m here for, you know.” Trent scooped her out of Ray’s lap, gave her a quick hug, and placed her down on the floor.

“Naima, I know you know how to handle aftercare for stitches. You can take them out by yourself too, when it’s time. Ten to fourteen days.”

“Yeah, _pretty sure_ I can manage that,” she chuckled.

Jameelah gingerly tested her knee, and found that she could walk without issue. “Am I allowed to run?” she asked.

“No,” Naima and Trent answered together.

“Not really,” Trent said. “No running, no sports, nothing that will cause a lot of pulling or stretching on those stitches. Why?”

She looked towards Clay and smiled. “Because this totally wasn’t fair, and I want a re-match for our Nerf war.”

Naima shook her head. “Uh-uh. No way. Uncle Trent doesn’t want to put more stitches in your other knee.”

“We’ll be careful,” Clay spoke up. He grinned back at Jameelah, then sobered. “Honestly, we’ll take care of her. You know I don’t want to see her get hurt again.”

“I do know that. I also know that pretty much everybody here would kick your ass if she got hurt again,” Trent said. “I would…” He paused, thinking of a suitable threat.

"What? You’re the medic, remember? That whole ‘do no harm’ thing?”

“You’re a little shit.” Trent laughed. “I may not be able to punish you myself, but Jason and Ray could make you run hills with a full pack for the next month or three.” Ray nodded in agreement. Clay knew they both meant every word.

“First, let’s get something to eat. There’s enough food out there to feed a couple platoons,” Trent said. “And then I’ll agree to the Nerf war on two conditions. One - it’s kept to a fast walk or slow jog at the most, no fast running. Understood?” Clay and Jameelah nodded seriously. “And two,” – he grinned – “I get to play too. Sonny said you have more Nerf guns, so I’m calling dibs on one and joining in the fray. I think I’ve earned it.” 

“Deal,” Clay and Jameelah said together.

“Then let’s do it. Time for some food and fun.” Trent swept Jameelah up in his arms again, and they headed back towards the party.

**/ END /**

**Author's Note:**

> Before starting my current job earlier this year, I spent 13 years as a contractor for emergency responders and the military, as an instructor for medical training and other topics, scenario actor/role player, and moulage (realistic "injury" makeup effects) artist. It was a great experience and I loved it!  
> Part of the idea for having Trent take care of Jameelah here was based on my experiences with one of the teams that I worked with - 2 of the team members and training course instructors were Special Forces medics, and it was great having our own medics on-site when we needed them! I cut my hand one day, and had one of them stitch it for me. Pretty sure the lidocaine numbing shot hurt worse than the initial injury, OUCH. I got to avoid a trip to the hospital, a long time waiting around in the ER (since there would be other higher priority cases than one cut needing a few stitches), and be surrounded by fun friends talking and joking with me while he did his work. Definitely a better experience! 
> 
> As far as this story goes - Bravo Team is one big close-knit family, and a medic like Trent would pretty much always have some of his gear with him in a kit, so of course he would be the one to help Jameelah out!  
> .


End file.
